


Resolutions

by Willowsticks



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowsticks/pseuds/Willowsticks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after "Problems," so if you haven't read that its probably best to...as always (well from now on at any rate) my stories are set after series 2 - series 3 doesn't exist. Richard is getting to grips with impending fatherhood...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Richard was watching her. He was always watching her. At first she had found it endearing, but after nearly three months it was beginning to get annoying. It had gotten to the point where he wouldn’t let her do anything without lecturing her on one of the medical studies he had read, or consulting a website. _Most women dream of a man being this involved_ she thought to herself, but in all honesty she found it constricting. He watched what she ate, what she didn’t eat, how often she ate, whether she felt sick, how many times she went to the bathroom, how much exercise she did, even how much she drank. Alcohol had been banned outright much to her annoyance. It wasn’t that she even wanted it, she just felt that it should be up to her as to whether she should be drinking it or not. In its place Richard plied her with water to keep her hydrated. She had found herself increasingly trying to sneak past him at home, once carrying a contraband load of laundry that she was determined to put in the washing machine. Needless to say he had caught her and taken care of it himself, telling her to rest.

She seemed incapable of escaping his gaze, even for a moment. But the truth was that Richard was watching her so carefully because he was trying to work out an opportune moment to ask her to marry him. It had been going through his head almost since the day he had found out about the baby. His baby. He still could scarcely believe it. A family. Two more than he ever thought he would have, or deserved.

To say that it was her pregnancy that made him think of marriage was a vast understatement. If he was honest then he would admit to having dreamt of being able to ask her since before they were even together. He had often fantasised about coming home to her after a busy day at work, kissing her and their children hello, never once believing that it might be a possibility, so had continued to draw the loneliness of the shack around him like a comfort blanket, shutting out everything and everyone. Even after he had finally plucked up the courage to ask her to dinner and found that she was a very willing participant in their relationship, he had convinced himself that marriage to her would have been selfish. He knew it would have made him happier than he had ever thought possible but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that her being tied to him would ever stop her from leaving when she grew tired of it just being the two of them.

Now though, things were different. He felt a new depth in their relationship, something that hadn’t been there before. The fact that she found him tiresome and eminently annoying had become apparent to Richard almost from the moment he had accepted her pregnancy. He knew he fussed over her too much and that she hated it, but he also knew that she accepted it as part of who he was, given what he had gone through and that she would worry that he was withdrawing from her if he ever stopped.  

Hiding it from people at work had been difficult. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to withholding things from colleagues, he was, but this was different. This was deliberately withholding the truth, something that he had never been very good at and his acting initially left a lot to be desired. Giddy, was perhaps the only word that could be used to describe him in those first days and Dwayne had shamelessly taken advantage of his good mood, arriving even later than usual to work in the morning with a hangover that had made it impossible for him to function properly. But Richard hadn’t cared, even allowing music at the station, but drawing the line at going for drinks with them after work. He had ensured that Camille had also declined.

It had taken every fibre of his being not to constantly look at her in the office, not to run his hands over her, imagining the mass of cells inside her growing bigger as every second passed. As a result the hours spent out of work revolved even more around Camille than they had before. He needed to be with her at every possible opportunity, he wanted her to know that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

He could sense her restlessness.

“Are you alright?” She nodded. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Camille?”

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

“Oh well if it’s stupid then don’t tell me.”

She huffed. “I don’t want to tell you because if I do then you’ll panic.”

“I won’t panic. You just said it was stupid.”

“You will, you’ll panic and then you’ll worry that I’m not happy.”

“I won’t...”

“I just feel...” Richard willed her to go on with his eyes. “I just feel fat.” Her last statement was said with a certain amount of embarrassment, as if she knew it was wrong to admit it but she still wanted to tell someone. “I feel so fat all the time.” She looked at Richard who by now was mute with astonishment at her revelation.

“But you’re not fat you’re pregnant.”

“I know I’m pregnant Richard, it doesn’t stop me from feeling fat.” Her frustration was beginning to boil over.

“Would you rather be thin than pregnant?” He looked dejected and confused.

“No, of course not! See this is why I didn’t want to tell you. You don’t understand.”

“Of course I understand”

“No you don’t, because you don’t think I’m fat.”

“Because you’re not fat. You’re beautiful.”

“Oh God don’t tell me I’m beautiful, that’s like saying I’m glowing.” He looked as though he was about to say something. “Don’t tell me I’m glowing!” She grabbed the flesh around her waist. “Look at it Richard! I don’t even look pregnant. People just look at me and assume I’m fat. I’m enormous. I’m hideous. Even my boobs are enormous.”

“Ah now that’s definitely not a bad thing.” Richard was much quicker to step in this time when pronouncing judgement. She glared at him and he realised what he had said. “Not that they weren’t perfect before, they were. Obviously they were. It’s just now, you know, they’re um...much bigger.” He hadn’t explained himself very well and he knew it. Camille continued to glare at him and he realised that he needed to make another effort to salvage the situation. “Camille, I love you, and I love the way you look now, more than the way you looked before you were pregnant, because _you’re pregnant_. He took both her hands. _This is it_ he thought to himself. _I’m going to propose_. “You are so beautiful and I love that no one knows. It’s just us and the bump.” He was on the verge of sliding out of his chair on to his knees when she cut in.

“And maman.” The moment was gone.

“Yes,” he replied grudgingly, “and your mother.”

She huffed a little. “Can’t we start telling other people now? I’m sure they all know anyway.”

“How would they know?”

“Oh come on Richard, it’s so obvious, you won’t let me do anything.” The dejected look was back and she tried to backpedal. Her face softened a little. “It’s sweet that you want to protect me, but I know what my body can cope with more than you do.” He still looked as though he didn’t know what she was talking about. “You didn’t even let me fill up the kettle today. Stop treating me like I’m going to break.” The message was beginning to get through, she could see him looking a little embarrassed. “Look, all I’m saying is that I am perfectly capable of carrying a tray of tea without any help. If on the other hand I need to get the Land Rover bonnet open, then that’s something I could do with some help on...Ok?” He nodded and she seemed to realise that she had taken her mood out on him.

“I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “I’m just tired. I’m so tired all the time.”

He pulled her into his lap. “Can I do anything? Why don’t you go to bed for a rest, I’ll make dinner.”

Her temper was beginning to flare up again. “I don’t want to go to bed Richard. I’m not sleepy. I just want to stop being tired. I want to be able to do things for myself again.” She paused long enough to get her temper back under control again. “I know you want to help and you are, it’s just, this is obviously new for both of us and I feel like I have so much pressure to get it right for you. If anything happens then it’s my fault, I know it is, but at the same time you have to trust that I’m not going to go bungee jumping or on a wild night out with my friends. But, if I want to go to the bar and have a beer then I should be allowed to do that...equally if I want a water or a coffee then I should be allowed that too, I need to choose, not you. 

He nodded mutely and she kissed him. They sat in silence, a rare moment of peace between them, her head resting against his chest, his arms encircling her.

“I don’t really want to tell anyone you know. I just get so bored of not being able to do things and I know when we finally get around to telling people they’re all going to butt in.”

“I know.”

“I just want to get it over with. I want them to know and then for them to leave us alone.

“I know, and they will. But for now it’s just us, isn’t that better?” She nodded.

“I suppose so. I just want the whole thing to hurry up. I want to look pregnant. This whole time nothing’s happened, I haven’t felt sick, I haven’t had any cravings, and I know that’s a good thing, but sometimes I wonder if anything’s actually going on in there. Even the fact that I feel fat doesn’t prove that I’m pregnant. 

Richard reached up and cupped her breast. “Oh I think there are certain things that prove you’re pregnant.”

She tried to wriggle away from his hand. “Richard they’re so enormous, and so disgusting.”

“They are certainly not disgusting.” He said smiling, drawing her into another kiss. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to bed.”

“I told you I’m not sleepy.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Oh?”

“No.” His hand was more insistent now and he had wormed his way under her shirt, rubbing his thumb over the bump in her bra where her nipple was.  

“Only if you’re sure it won’t hurt the baby...” She was being sarcastic even he knew that. He narrowed his eyes at her and she giggled, slipping off his lap and pulling him to his feet.

Perhaps this pregnancy thing wasn’t so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Richard was feeling nervous. The feeling itself was nothing new, he often felt nervous, but it was the idea of seeing his offspring for the first time that he was struggling with this time. He had been warring with his feelings for a while, trying not to think about this day. There was probably something wrong, some sort of deformity or disability. It wasn’t possible that they could have a healthy child, and if it wasn’t healthy then it was almost certainly because of something he had done. Or had allowed Camille to do. Perhaps it had happened because he hadn’t taken enough care of her, or because he had allowed her to drag him off to bed at every available opportunity. That much sex wasn’t good for anyone, not least a baby. 

Camille hadn’t even felt sick, and if she didn’t feel sick then it was probably because the sickness was manifesting itself in their child, wasn’t it? But then there was every possibility that the opposite was true. Perhaps she hadn’t felt sick because she was just lucky, sickness wasn’t even related to health – was it? Surely if there had been a problem it would have made itself known in some form of abdominal pain wouldn’t it? Recently he had to remind himself that it wasn’t a baby. Not yet. It was just a constantly accumulating mass of cells, it probably didn’t even resemble a baby. 

He looked up and saw Camille watching him. “I know you’ll say no, but you really don’t have to come in if it’s freaking you out this much.”

“Why would I not come? Don’t you want me there?”

“Of course I want you there, you just look as though you’d rather be anywhere else right now.”

“I’m fine. Honestly. You think everything will be fine don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t feel ill?”

“No, I’m fine too.” She squeezed his hand a little then stood as her name was called. “Come on then. 

***

Richard didn’t remember much about the questions, the gel, the ultrasound equipment, everything else faded when an image appeared on the screen in front of him. He stared uncomprehending, his mind telling him that it didn’t resemble anything, certainly not a baby. But there it was. His baby. He felt a surge of emotion and struggled to maintain his composure as his chest swelled. Unconsciously he reached out his hand and felt for her, feeling comfort when he came into contact with her extended fingers. He wore a small smile.

“Well, there’s your baby.” The sonographer’s voice cut through the quiet in the room. They both focused on the screen, marvelling at the flickering image before them.

“Just one?”

“Yes, just one. How many were you expecting?” The sonographer seemed amused by the question.

Camille rolled her eyes but he was still transfixed by the screen. “Hmm? Oh just one’s fine. But everything else is ok, nothing’s wrong?” He made a conscious effort to keep the worry out of his voice.

“Everything’s fine. You have a perfectly healthy baby.” Camille shot him an _I told you so look_ and he was so caught up in the moment that he forgot to correct his thinking to the word foetus instead of baby. It _was_ his baby. He could only continue to stare at the picture in front of him.  

He nodded mutely, off on another tangent. “Can we have photographs?”  

The sonographer laughed a little then realised he was being serious, “of course, how many would you like?”

How many can we have?” He ignored the gasp of his name that had fallen from Camille’s lips in embarrassment.

“You usually get 3 or 4, depending on the position the baby is in.”

“And is that a good position?” He was pointing at the screen again.

“Yes...”

“So we could take photos now, in case he moves. She moves...it?”

“You can’t usually tell the baby’s sex just yet, it’s a little too early.”

“Can’t usually?”

“Well, I suppose given the position it’s in, we might be able to....”

“Really?” His excitement was beginning to bubble over.

“Richard,” Camille cut in again. “I don’t want to know.”

“Oh? Sorry, I mean we never discussed it. You really don’t want to know?”

“No!”

“Fine, that’s fine.” Then turning back to the sonograper. “But we could still take some photos now...”

Camille was now more vocal in her disapproval of him.

“What? Camille, if we don’t take them now, it could move then we won’t get any. Don’t you want them?” He kissed the knuckles of the hand he was holding, sure that at this moment she would forgive him anything.

“Ok, but we aren’t showing these to everyone. These are for us.”

“And a couple of people. We should probably show your mother. And my parents probably should see...”

“Ok...”

“Fidel probably wants to see too, you know because he’s had Rosie. He’ll be interested.” She raised an eyebrow at him but nothing would stem the flow of conversation that was now pouring out of him. “And we can’t show Fidel without showing Dwayne, you know he’ll pretend like he doesn’t care but he will. We can’t leave him out.”

“Richard, we haven’t even told them I’m pregnant.”

“Well, maybe it’ll be a good way to do it, you know, show them the picture and sort of tell them as a surprise? Or leave it around somewhere and wait for them to see it and casually drop it into conversation?” Her look was enough to convince him that it wasn’t a good idea.

He caught sight of the sonographer beginning to look vaguely uncomfortable and cleared his throat, becoming more like the old Richard she had first known. “Yes. Well, I suppose we could talk about this later...”

***

10 minutes later they were standing outside the entrance to the antenatal clinic in the hospital, Richard clutching the small package of photographs that he had been given. To Camille, they all looked vaguely the same, she would have been happy with 2 or 3 as was the norm. But Richard had been so excited by the whole experience that the sonographer had taken pity on him and provided him with far more than was necessary. He was currently busy reeling off a list of people that he thought should have one, or at least should be shown them when she cut in. 

“Richard, I don’t think Dwayne or Fidel or even the Commissioner will be that interested.” She caught the look of hurt on his face and continued quickly. “It’s just, they don’t know our history, they won’t understand why we’re so excited.” 

He looked a little defeated. “You are excited aren’t you?”

“Of course I am! Why would you say that?”

He shrugged and began to look sulky. “it’s just sometimes you look a little bored by the whole thing, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m over excited or if it’s because it doesn’t bother you that much. I mean, you didn’t even want these photos.”

“I didn’t want all of them, because I think we only need a couple.” She took his hand and kissed him.   “You know I love our baby, and I love you and of course I’m happy. You just have to remember that no one knows how difficult it would have been for us to have a baby, they all probably think that this pregnancy was an accident.”

That caught his attention. “ _You_ don’t think it was an accident do you?”

“Well, it _was_ sort of an accident. We weren’t exactly trying...” He looked so dismayed that she had to continue on quickly. “But the best kind of accident, because we didn’t think we’d ever be capable of trying.” He seemed to understand what she was saying, even if the vague frown on his face remained. She tried to get her point across again “So can you understand why people might not understand why we’re as happy as we are?” He nodded. “And can we keep the photos between us until we tell people in a couple of days?” He nodded again and she kissed him.

“Chief?” Richard tore himself away from her, his eyes widening in disbelief as Fidel came towards him.

“Fidel, what are you doing here?”

“Ah, Rosie fell over and hurt her arm, Juliet’s just getting it checked out. What are you doing here, everything ok?” His eyes moved back and forth between the two of them. They both looked fine, perhaps a little guilty.

“Oh um, nothing really...just um, checking out a lead for a case.” Camille fought the urge to sigh at his inability to lie.

“Oh right, which case?”

“Um, a new one that came in yesterday afternoon. You weren’t in the office.”

“Oh ok.”

Richard watched as Fidel’s eyes moved from his face to the enormous ‘ _Antenatal unit’_ sign above their heads and to the pack he was carrying in his hand. Both men began to shift uncomfortably and Camille rolled her eyes.

“Oh for God’s sake Richard just tell him!” He gave her a very meaningful stare and his eyebrows shot upwards in what she could only assume was an attempt to try and shush her. Richard was clearly under the impression that Fidel was still in the dark, something Camille would have found amusing if it wasn’t so ridiculous. “You don’t really think he believed that rubbish about a new case do you...? 

That got him talking. “It wasn’t rubbish. We absolutely could have been checking out a lead.” Richard was gearing up for a rant about how plausible his lie was, when he heard Fidel give a shout of congratulations to Camille and pull her into what would he could only describe as a tight hug. Too tight in his opinion. He was on the verge of telling Fidel to tone it down when he released her and turned to shake Richard’s hand.

“Congratulations sir, that’s amazing.” Richard nodded, unable to trust himself to speak, pride written large across his face.

They heard another excited voice behind them as Juliet hurried over to join them carrying a tear stained Rosie. “Oh my goodness, is this your 12 week scan?” Without waiting for an answer she carried on, “I’ve been dying to talk to you about it for ages. 

Richard looked flabbergasted and it seemed both he and Fidel had the same question on their lips. ”You knew?”

She turned to Richard, “it was fairly obvious, you haven’t let her do anything for herself for ages!” She flashed Camille an apologetic look. “Oh no, I’m sorry, I probably should have let you tell me in your own time. It’s just now, you’re here...” she indicated to the antenatal sign above their heads, “and, oh I’m so happy for you!” Camille grinned and they both hugged excitedly if somewhat awkwardly as Rosie was trapped between them. 

A rush of questions came out. “So, how do you feel? I felt so fat when I was having Rosie, like a massive whale, and the worst thing was not being able to tell anyone about it, so everyone just thinks your fat! It gets better though.” She paused for breath. “You’re not feeling sick are you?” Camille shook her head but continued grinning, finally grateful to have someone to be able to share this with. “You’re so lucky, that’s the worst, and I didn’t even have it that badly...” Juliet was about to plough on when she caught sight of Richard’s face. She looked slightly sheepish. “It looks as though I should probably let you go. Can I see you soon though; I want to talk to you about everything!” 

Richard and Fidel stood awkwardly listening to the two women making plans. Fidel was still feeling a little guilty that he had run into them, so it was Richard who broke the silence. “Um, we haven’t really told anyone yet, so...”

“Oh of course, don’t worry chief, secret’s safe with me.” Richard nodded his thanks and then watched as Fidel and Juliet left carrying Rosie who at least looked slightly buoyed by the happy mood of the adults around her.  

They finally exited into the heat of the day, both keen to get away from the hospital as soon as possible in case they bumped into anyone else they knew. He kissed her temple as he wrapped his arm around her.

“I thought you hated PDA’s.”

“I’m getting used to them.” She laughed, then narrowed her eyes playfully at him. “I told you ages ago that people knew.”

He returned her glare. “And I told you people would care and would be happy for us.” She reluctantly accepted his statement but poked her tongue out at him all the same. He smiled, still amazed at how, in his mid 40s he had regressed back into juvenility. He almost responded by shouting “ _race you to the car!”_ but decided that it was unlikely that he would win in this particular instance so wisely kept his mouth shut. Besides, there would be plenty of time for that in the future.


	3. Chapter 3

They hadn’t gone home but to the beach. Camille had needed some fresh air and as she put it, a little bit of exercise before she wasn’t able to do it anymore. They walked for a little while until, in Richard’s eyes at least, she grew out of breath. Richard helped her to a fallen log at the edge of the beach so that she could sit, something she was perfectly capable of doing herself. It occurred to him briefly that the beach they were at now reminded him strongly of where he had found her after Aimee had died, but truthfully, a lot of the island’s beaches still looked the same to him. He could only hope that that she didn’t follow his train of thought. Her melancholy would certainly ruin the elation of the earlier afternoon. 

If she recognised it, then she didn’t mention it. 

He knelt in the sand in front of her to make sure that she was alright, his eyes searching her face for any sign that she might not be comfortable. 

She batted away his concern. “You always fuss. I’m fine.” 

“I know, I just want to make sure.”

She patted the log next to her and invitation he would usually have taken in order to get him off the floor, but he shook his head. “I’m fine here.” 

She downplayed the initial shock she felt, feigning it instead, aware that this was perhaps the first time that he had ever passed up an opportunity to get off the sand. Her hand smoothed his brow, and her narrowed eyes studied his face looking for signs of any potential illness that he might have. He took hold of it and held it still. The action did nothing to dispel her interest in his health.

“Are you ok?” 

He seemed confused. Now that he had the ideal opportunity he wasn’t sure if he could pull it off. He was paralysed both by the idea that she might laugh at his audacity and his fear of being rejected. He knew he was turning redder by the second, partly because of the sun but mostly because he could feel his confidence dwindle under her steady gaze. He thought his hands were beginning to sweat and wondered in a panic if Camille could feel the damp palm against her own dry one. He was just about to remove it from her grasp when he felt her other hand at his neck, flicking his collar up, protecting him from the afternoon glare of the sun. It reminded him of the fact that they were soon to have a child of their own and his confidence steadied. 

The silence was on the verge of becoming awkward, Camille looked as though she was trying to work out if something was wrong. He felt she was dangerously close to talking, and if that happened, the question he wanted so desperately to ask would have to be shelved yet again. 

He blurted it out without thinking. All that careful planning and romantic sentiment disappeared in his nervousness. It came out as a statement not a question, he wondered quickly if that was a bad thing or if it showed the self assurance she had been trying to instil in him since the beginning of their relationship. 

“Marry me.” 

Of all the things in the world, it was clearly the last she had thought he was going to say. She looked utterly gobsmacked, her jaw hung slightly open.

It was obvious to him that she was going to say no, so he tried to salvage the situation finishing his proposal with rather a pathetic, “please?”

He watched as a small smile appeared and grew. He wasn’t sure if that meant yes or if she was about to laugh at him. She nodded then threw herself at him as they collided in a mass of lips and hands. The force of her body knocked him onto the sand and he quickly found himself on his back being covered in kisses. It had gone better than he ever could have imagined. 

He tried to pry himself away from her, to tell her what he had meant to say at the beginning; that he loved her; that she was beautiful; that from the moment he had met her he had never wanted another woman; that he was totally undeserving of her; but every time he attempted it, she shushed him with more kisses. 

She broke off suddenly allowing Richard to catch his breath again and sat up. He began to wonder if her overenthusiastic response had caused her pain in any way, she had been lying on her front in order to kiss him and all of his readings thus far had pointed to the fact that this should be avoided. But when she did speak it wasn’t what he was expecting. 

“Are you serious?” 

She only realised what she had said after she saw the hurt fill his eyes and the beginnings of his stumbling reply as he dropped them from hers completely. She moved quickly to control damage limitation. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just wanted to make sure that this is what you want.”

“Of course it’s what I want.”

“Ok, but I don’t understand why now.” He wasn’t quite on the same wavelength as her. “We’ve just had our first scan...” 

“I know. It was amazing; didn’t you think it was amazing?”

“Yes. But I want to know why you’re asking me to marry you now?” 

He searched around wildly, trying to find a suitable answer in everything from the horizon to the shifting sand under him. It was the first time that it occurred to him that now might not actually have been the perfect time he had deemed it to be. But why not? The scan was fine. Their baby was fine. They were in love. Why wasn’t now a good time? 

“Did you honestly think that if there was a problem with our baby I wouldn’t have said yes?” He didn’t answer. “Richard?” 

“No!” He was indignant in his reply. “I just wanted to ask you. I’ve been trying to ask you for ages and it’s never worked, and we’re on the beach and you weren’t talking...” She raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You asked me because I wasn’t talking?” 

He huffed, aware that he was on the verge of ruining the moment. “I asked you because I thought it was romantic.” He mentally added that had she actually been talking then he wouldn’t have got around to doing it. He also seemed to realise that he owed her some sort of apology for the way he had proposed. “But you made me nervous. I’ve been practising for ages and I just sort of forgot everything”

“You’ve been practising?” Oh God this was getting worse. Not only did she now think he was a loser for practising in the first place, she probably thought that he was a moron given that he had managed to fluff what he had been intending to say in the first place. Only an idiot would have to practise the line ‘marry me.’ He silently cursed himself for not being able to do the whole thing off the cuff as she would have wanted.

“A bit, but not like that. It was different...” He stopped, aware that he was not explaining himself well. 

She was looking at him with that exasperated smile that she bestowed on him when she and he both knew that he was an idiot. He was grateful at least to know that on some levels he was forgiven for the cack handed way he’d just asked her to spend the rest of her life with him. He was also aware that during the time it had taken for his thoughts to process the fact that he was off the hook her facial expression had changed. 

She was now looking at him expectantly and Richard had no idea why. She had squeezed her lips together, aware that the question she was about to ask him was very cheeky. 

“So, do I get a ring?”

“Oh God.” The sudden realisation hit him that in all of his preparation he had actually forgotten a ring. How could he have forgotten the ring? He felt vaguely sick. 

If she was crestfallen then she managed to veil it with her teasing. “I thought you’d been thinking about this for a while?” 

“I have. I just forgot. I can’t believe I forgot!”

“You forgot?” Richard began to panic that the yes she had just given was swiftly heading towards a no. He was about to step in and tell her that he would buy something that afternoon when an idea suddenly struck him. 

“We can go together if you like. I mean, I sort of know what I was going to get you, but if you want to help then that’s fine...” 

“You want me to choose my own engagement ring?” Richard was again aware that he might have said the wrong thing. He had no idea if women choosing their own engagement rings was acceptable or not. It probably wasn’t. He should have surprised her with something. Or at least asked for someone’s advice. He dismissed the idea quickly, there was no one he would have or could have spoken to on the island, or back in England for that matter. His trust issues ensured that. 

“You don’t have to, I can...” his sentence was cut short by a squeal of excitement as Camille launched herself at him again, covering his mouth with hers as it suddenly began to dawn on him that the budget he had in mind was clearly not going to be anywhere near enough. 

No wonder she looked so ecstatic.


	4. Chapter 4

His planned budget wasn’t enough, it wasn’t even close. 

When he had first thought about marriage he had considered sticking to the old adage that the ring should cost approximately 2 month’s worth of his salary. But on sober reflection he had dismissed this idea as being overtly overindulgent; even a month’s salary would have been more than she was expecting. He couldn’t imagine Camille being so frivolous as to mind how big her ring was, not when they had more important things to pay for in the months to come. Not that he was going to be stingy either, he just didn’t think that the size of an engagement ring should reflect how much he loved his wife. 

But as was her usual way, Camille ended up surprising him, or he ended up underestimating her, one or the other. 

From the moment they had entered the jewellers he had known that there was going to be trouble. He should have called ahead. He should have discussed a budget either with the jeweller or with Camille so that they were all on the same page. He should have then asked to be shown rings within his budget. He should have kept Camille within reach at all times. He should also have tried suggesting that they could have something made in the style of any ring she saw in the shop (his practical mind loved the idea that this would have cost a fraction of the price too). 

He failed on all counts. 

As tray after tray of different diamonds were brought out for her delectation he found himself making frantic cutting movements behind Camille’s back in the hope of catching the assistant’s eye. In time his hints were taken and the trays began to stabilize to a range he wasn’t necessarily happy with but that he could cope with. Typically Camille still showed an interest in the higher value stones. But he began to truly panic when she picked up a diamond and the assistant’s eyes widened in surprise. Richard wasn’t sure what was going on but the uneasiness of the man opposite manifested itself in him instantly, the ring was clearly on the wrong tray. He looked closer at the stone. It looked like a normal diamond, only a bit dirty, sort of off the usual colour...his eyes widened when he saw her hold it up to the light and it exploded into pure yellow. How the hell was he was going to get it off her? 

Camille held the yellow diamond ring in her fingers, squinting at it gently trying to decide if she liked it or not. It intrigued her. She turned around to talk to Richard to get his opinion and found him shifting rather nervously. She caught the reason why immediately but couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease him a little. 

“This is beautiful Richard!” She watched the colour drain from his face as she slipped it on her finger and cooed at it. “Did you realise they came in yellow?”

Richard nodded. He knew exactly how many colours diamonds came in, which chemicals caused the different colours, where they were mined and how prohibitively expensive they were. 

She widened her eyes pleading with him in a way that he was becoming very accustomed to when he knew she wanted something and went back to fussing over her prospective engagement ring. Unaware that she was teasing, Richard began turning the situation over in his head, trying to calculate a way out that wouldn’t make him seem like the world’s biggest tosser if he had to say no. 

Halfway through this train of thought, another one hit him. It was, in all probability, a hideously expensive ring, far more than he had ever cared to spend. But then he had saved religiously, almost since his first pay packet, that much had been drummed into him by his father. Every penny, other than necessary essentials, had been put away for a rainy day. Clothing, food, mortgage (now thankfully paid off), dates that had once been slightly more numerous than he cared to admit to Camille before petering off sharply over the last decade, it had all barely made a dent in what he had earned. He did a quick calculation and allowed himself a small chuckle when he realised that his later enforced celibacy now afforded him the luxury of treating his future wife to an engagement ring of her choice. 

And why shouldn’t she have it, he reasoned with himself? After all, she had given him things that no one else had or could. She had found him broken and dejected, living in limbo and she had given him his life and his confidence back. She was also the only woman in the world who had been able to give him a child, a miracle in itself. 

He came to a rapid conclusion. As far as he was concerned she could have the Koh i Norr if she so desired it (although he wasn’t quite sure how he would be able to get hold of it if indeed it turned out to be the stone of her choice). 

He cleared his throat in order to get her attention again. She turned around. 

“You know, if you like it, you can have it.” She scoffed at him and narrowed her eyes, trying to tell him that the game was up, the joke was on him because she didn’t want the stupid ring anyway. But he looked at her so earnestly her that she was left in no doubt that he was being serious. “Honestly Camille. Anything you want.”

Unable to look away totally for security reasons, the assistant focused his eyes directly at the tray in order to give them a little more privacy. 

“And you think this is what I want? This?” She brandished the ring in his face. He shrugged. “Richard, this is too much. Can you imagine me wearing this every day at work or on patrol? I wouldn’t even need to chase anyone down when arresting them, I could just blind them with it and then put the handcuffs on.” 

Richard smiled weakly. “But you said it was beautiful...” 

“It is beautiful but I was teasing you, you idiot!” She saw his face and decided to explain a little more so that he understood completely. “Richard, I don’t need a flashy ring to prove that I’m married to you. I actually sort of wanted something that no one else would have and if you have a diamond then you have to have a really nice one because everyone else has them and compares theirs to yours. Plus, I’ll always worry about losing it. I don’t want that. I want something that’s me and that we found together.”

She was watching him carefully to see if she had embarrassed him in front of the shop assistant by inadvertently implying that they she didn’t want to spend every penny they had on a ring, but he seemed fine. 

She saw something move out of the corner of her eye and turned to discover that the assistant had tactfully removed the tray and replaced it with brightly coloured blues, reds, greens, oranges and yellows. Camille frowned at him requesting more information. 

“Semi precious gem stones madam. I can’t guarantee that you won’t lose them but you won’t have to worry about them as much. And they are bright...”

She smiled her approval and gleefully handed the yellow diamond back to him. Now this was something she was going to enjoy. 

***

After what seemed like hours, to Richard’s mind anyway, they exited the shop with an empty box (next to an equally empty wallet) in Richard’s pocket and a ring on Camille’s finger. She was right, they had gotten more for their money but Richard wasn’t entirely sure if he still hadn’t been duped. He thought that he had been, the ring, although beautiful had still been ludicrously expensive. The main thing was that she was happy. 

The emerald cut blue topaz, surrounded with micro pave diamonds came as something of a surprise to him as it wasn’t necessarily one that he would have chosen for her himself, but he had to admit that it was more interesting than a much smaller diamond that they would have got on the same budget. It suited her and he was pleased that she at least had something shiny, not because he wasn’t totally happy with the topaz itself, but because he hadn’t wanted Catherine to think of him as stingy.


	5. Chapter 5

As Camille moved through her second trimester Richard could only marvel as her growing confidence replaced the initial doubt she had in her body image. A small tight bump had appeared to replace her early weight gain, her skin was clear and her hair seemed fuller, even to him and he’d never been very good at noticing things like that. He knew it was a cliché but she was radiant. Nothing seemed to annoy her. Which was a good thing. A great thing. The type of good and great thing that always led to them being in bed. But he was exhausted.

In the first few days that they had told people about both their pregnancy and engagement, they had been inundated with well wishers. Richard fluctuated between embarrassment, annoyance and badly concealed glee much to their visitors’ obvious delight. They watched with interest as he fussed and fluttered around Camille, usually to her aggravation, amused to see him in such a domestic role as family man for the first time, but not fully comprehending the reason behind his incessant care.

Catherine had of course been ecstatic by Richard’s proposal and was desperately trying to persuade them to tie the knot before the baby arrived knowing full well that both of them would be too exhausted to even contemplate the briefest of ceremonies after the birth. They had both held out so far, preferring to just enjoy the moment and the house they now shared and not get caught up in the chaos of a wedding.

But amongst all this was the sheer and simple pleasure of the fact that at the end of the day he was able to shut the door on all of them and it was just him and Camille. Alone. No work, no interfering families, no well wishers. He could indulge himself in the simple pleasure of being with her.

Before, when he was alone, his definition of happiness had been the evening quiet and a good book. He had made peace with the fact that his life revolved around routine and loneliness, had never considered that he might have a second chance. Where once he had courted solitude, he now took pleasure in company. He longed for the end of every day when he could take Camille home and they could sprawl on the sofa together: the definition of liming that in his early days on the island had eluded him. He would while away the hours running his hands back and forth across her stomach until Camille got bored and endeavoured to get up, her attempt causing him to bite back his laughter as she struggled and floundered, until a hand on her back (or more usually her backside) helped righten her.

As the months progressed, Richard’s confidence in their situation grew too and as their 20 week scan came and went and he received yet more proof of a healthy baby he began to indulge himself in preparation. On the occasions that Camille was out with friends she would come home to find him with his nose in baby books diligently reading through baby names, highlighting the ones he liked and turning down the corners of the pages so that he could share them on her return. She knew full well that the majority would never make their shortlist but was happy to pander to him in this instance knowing that he needed this more than she did.

His reading didn’t solely occur when he was on his own either. Baby books lay strewn throughout their home but ended up in stacks in their bedroom too. Whereas he would once have slept through the night with her in his arms exhausted by their antics, she now woke to find him reading, chastising him gently and rolling closer so that he had no choice but to turn the lights off again and sleep.

Camille had tried to read them, she really had, but they made her head ache and her eyelids droop every time she picked one up. She had no need for them anyway, Richard imparted his new found knowledge to her on a daily basis and she had become adept at phasing out any part of his lecture that didn’t interest her. She found that her time in the bedroom was much better employed on entertaining them both, finding fun in enticing Richard away from the latest medical report and back in to her arms despite the difficulty her ever growing bump provided.

She was also amazed at how a man so disinterested in his own wardrobe was happy to wander the shops for hours looking at baby clothes and accessories. He had already gone completely overboard, something that Catherine, to Camille’s dismay had actively encouraged him in. Their cupboards were groaning with soft toys, books and babygrows of all different colours and sizes, ready and waiting despite neither of them knowing their baby’s sex. To her delight Camille’s wardrobe got the same treatment. She remembered the first time she had returned home waylaid with shopping bags containing new clothes to accommodate her expanding figure and the small frown that had graced his face. She had braced herself for a lecture on the need to save their money, but to her surprise he had said nothing. Looking back, she thought that she remembered a look of excitement and pride on his face which he had masked, and she had mistaken for annoyance as he took the bags upstairs. A look that was replicated when she had worn her maternity clothes for the first time, showcasing her little bump.

Amongst all this Richard had also noticed that Camille had become more content with her own company. She had developed an uncanny ability to shut out noise (usually his noise), and sometimes seemed to withdraw from him completely, absorbed in her own thoughts. It had begun at work, and if she hadn’t been pregnant with his baby he might have summoned the courage to tell her that it was unacceptable and that she either needed to pull her finger out or that she should contemplate early maternity leave. But it had gradually crept into all facets of their free time too and Richard was now used seeing her staring at blank spaces of wall, completely unresponsive to anything that he had to say, daydreaming.

Today was no different as Camille was staring absentmindedly out of the window, a strange sort of smile on her face and her hand over her stomach. She started a little as Richard slid his hand under hers but settled as he placed a kiss against her throat and drew her close in greeting. They stood enjoying the evening sun as it warmed them both through the window, Richard so lost in his own thoughts that he almost missed the small flutter like movement beneath his fingers. It was only when it happened again that Camille felt his chest swell behind her and a long intake of breath. Over the past months he had become better at expressing his emotions with her but his reserve hadn’t left entirely.

“Is that...”

She hummed a response at him and felt his arms tighten around her.

“When did it start?”

She shrugged. “a couple of days ago...” She felt him nod and knew the question that he wanted to ask but wouldn’t. “I wasn’t sure what it was, I didn’t want to get your hopes up. You’re not annoyed are you?”

He kissed her again and she felt him smile into her neck. “No, of course not. It’s amazing.” She felt his fingers stroke her bump again as they settled back into contemplative silence.

“What do you think we’re having?”

The question startled him out of his thoughts again and he replied playfully but rather unhelpfully, “a baby.” She elbowed him in the ribs as a response and he huffed his amusement in her ear.

"I meant, do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” She felt him shrug his indifference so turned around looking a little vulnerable as she knew he wouldn’t want to discuss this. “I know it doesn’t matter but...” she returned his shrug, “I think it’s a girl.”

“I don’t...” She thought he was going to say that he didn’t mind, “I don’t want to say. Just in case it’s not. I don’t want to have a preference.”

“It’s not a preference Richard, it’s just what you think it is.”

Another shrug. “I know.”

She tried again. “Everyone keeps saying I’m having a boy. Because of the shape.” She braced herself for the lecture that she knew was coming, that she had purposefully instigated.

“You know that studies have shown that the shape has no bearing on the sex of a child at all. The only thing that _might_ have some truth in it is the baby’s heart rate. And even that’s widely debated Camille.” He paused, unsure at what she was getting at. “There isn’t any foolproof way of finding out apart from the scan. If you wanted to know, we should have found out then...”

This was not going her way at all and she was having difficulty hiding her frustration from him. “I don’t want to know Richard. I’m just asking you what you’re feeling. _You’re feeling_. You know, those things you have in here...” she tapped him on the chest and lowered her voice, trying to shield her next comment from him, “the things you never talk about...”

He could see that she was dangerously close to working her way up to tears.

I...um...” He sighed and admitted defeat. “Maybe a girl too.” He smiled that lopsided grin of his at her which faltered a little as his look of excitement suddenly changed to panic, “Not that I wouldn’t be happy if we had a boy. I would. I mean obviously I would.” He dropped to his knees and spoke directly to her stomach. “I don’t mind, honestly.” Camille giggled. “It’s not funny Camille. I know they can’t understand but I don’t want our child to think that I have a preference.” He was rewarded by another miniscule movement under his fingers which were splayed over her abdomen and looked up at her with an expression akin to wonder. “See.” He said delightedly. “I told you.”

Camille rolled her eyes at him and ruffled what was left of his hair affectionately. He flashed her a look of adoration then a cheeky grin as he had a sudden idea and turned to speak to her stomach again.

“Hello little one. Can you hear me?” Camille giggled again as he looked put out not to receive a response. He continued none the less placing a kiss on the taunt skin. “Do you think that mummy and daddy should get married?”

He got a response this time as the tiniest of kicks shifted under the palm of his hand. He persevered quickly, knowing that more were likely to come. “Do you think that mummy and daddy should get married before you arrive?” He was rewarded by another much harder kick.

He looked up at Camille in triumph and hunched his shoulders, phrasing the question to her that had apparently just been decided by their unborn child.

“That doesn’t mean anything! A kick doesn’t mean yes. It could mean no. It might not want us to get married!”

He had risen to his feet. “Don’t you want us to get married?”

“Of course I do. I just thought that you didn’t want the craziness of a wedding...”

He thought about this as he was kissing her. “We could have a very small wedding...”

“A very small one?”

He was humming his response in her mouth, whispering his answer in her ear now. “Next week? I just want to marry you. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

He drew back to look at her and found eyes narrowed and lips pursed in contemplation. She clarified her last question again as fact. “A small wedding.”

He nodded. “As small as you like.”

“And we do a bigger one afterwards?” He nodded again, daring to hope that she was on the verge of saying yes. “And you think we could get married in a week?” Her last question was teasing, as if daring him to contradict her.

He put on his most authoritative voice. “Camille, I am the most senior police officer on the island of Saint Marie. I’m pretty sure I could find someone to marry us tomorrow if you wanted.” She giggled as he added “although if we told your mother, we’d probably be married tonight.”

She shook her head. “God you’re pompous.”

His response was muffled as her lips lifted to his, but she was pretty sure she heard him say, “you love it.” So she hit him again for good measure and manoeuvred him out of the room towards a bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup its been a while with this one hasn't it - but I've really been struggling with this chapter for a while. I just hit a brick wall. But I've finally broken through, although its taken a route that I hadn't originally planned on. Apologies if its not your cup of tea. I am fascinated by the changes that women go through in pregnancy, some good, some not so good. So thought I would write about the stuff that made me laugh. I also wanted to stop the story from becoming too saccharine by injecting a bit of fun, so apologies for that too...

He stretched out luxuriously, his feet seeking out the cool parts of the sheet that they hadn’t already conquered and sighed silently as the air conditioning worked its magic on the bare skin that it came in contact with.  He thought again how nice it was to be able to relax somewhere where the cleaning wasn’t his to worry about and neither were the hordes of well-wishers that he seemed unable to shake back at home. 

They had been married within a week.  It hadn’t been exactly what Catherine had had in mind.  She had entertained vague hopes of having more than 10 people to her only child’s wedding.  And perhaps a church.  But she bit back her frustration in light of the fact they were getting married at all.  And Richard _had_ promised a larger celebration to Camille, something her daughter had been unable to keep a secret.  He hadn’t mentioned it to Catherine yet, but she was sure he would.  And if he didn’t then she certainly wouldn’t shy away from that particular conversation. 

The registry office had been quick and painless, giving Richard the anonymity that he so desperately craved and allowing the focus to remain on the ceremony and obviously Camille.  How could it not when she looked so beautiful and so very pregnant. 

The honeymoon too was as anonymous as it could be.  His nervousness on her behalf had ensured that they hadn’t flown but Richard was beginning to understand the sheer ease of the Caribbean and the ability to flit between the different islands.  They had taken the ferry far enough away from her mother and close enough to home that Richard could finally stop feeling self-conscious and enjoy himself. 

Stretching again, he glanced over at Camille.  It was still early.  She was turned away from him, seeking out the edge of the bed as support as she had begun to do for a when she had become bigger.  Apparently there was something about the middle of the bed that made her feel claustrophobic.  It was probably to do with the fact that she couldn’t manoeuvre herself out of it with as much ease he thought with a smile.  That and the extra pillow stuffed between her legs for comfort had ensured that he as the one to seek her out during mornings and nights and not the other way around.  Smiling, he thought of the burgeoning little bump that was already causing problems for its mother as it wiggled and wriggled and pushed against her ribs and suddenly he very much wanted to hold it, to reassure himself that it was still there, that it would respond to his touch. 

As silently as possible he rolled over on to his side, careful to disturb as little as possible, aware of how tired she still was from the whirlwind of preparations that they had endued.  But his searching hand was harder to control and the sheet shifted a little too much, at first emitting a puff of warm air followed by something that made him gag involuntarily and rather loudly.  Clamping his hand over his mouth he couldn’t stop a little gasp of exclamation.  “Oh.  Wow.”  The initial shock wearing off quickly he now took the time to study his wife.  Smirking and managing to look perplexed at the same time his eyes narrowed as he took in her prone form.  She was lying still.  Too still.

“Camille?”  Nothing.  He tried again, a hint of teasing in his voice.  “Camille?”  She started to move, stretching out herself.  It was all a little too rehearsed.  She began the process of shifting herself over on to her other side so that she could face him and looked innocently up at him.  “Are you ok?”

The effort of keeping a straight face had down turned his mouth slightly.  To anyone that didn’t know him it would have been mistaken it for severity.  But Camille had seen it so many times that she knew better, even if it did have the added effect of making her feel more guilty than she already did. 

She tried out and out lying.  “I’m fine.  Why?” 

A smile threatened to curl the corner of his lip.  He had expected to see sleep in her eyes, droopy lids or a dazed expression.  But she was alert. 

His tone was accusatory his humour now obvious, “was that you?” Her face crumpled, eyes widening and teeth chewing on her inside lip and he knew she wasn’t even going to try and deny it.  So perfect Camille wasn’t so perfect after all.  And all it had taken was a wedding.  He looked at her with disbelief, the smile growing in light of his amusement. 

“I thought you were asleep.”  Her voice was muffled, her hands were over her face as she tried to hide in shame, but he could tell that she was sheepish. 

He was trying not to laugh, inferring that had she known he had been awake then she would never have risked her façade of femininity.

She buried her head in to the pillow a little more.  “I can’t help it.  She had removed her hands from her face, chancing a look at him, trying to justify.  When she met his unremitting gaze she fell back on guilt. “Please don’t hate me.”

He was completely mystified.  “Why would I…”

“Oh God, you do.  You do hate me.” It was a complete overreaction, and one that he was getting increasingly used to as her hands recovered her face and she took cover under the sheet to get away from him. 

Rather than finishing his last sentence, he was doing everything in his power not to openly laugh at her new hiding place.  “Well, I wouldn’t go back under there if I were you...”  

She threw her arm out in a punch from her hiding place replying in a muffled voice, “it’s not funny!” 

He was still sniggering, “Camille…” she refused to budge.  “Camille…”

She opened the sheet up a fraction to peer out at him and another puff of noxious gas assaulted him.  “Oh my God.”  It was clearly hideous.  The sheet closed again with an anguished cry and he seemed to realise that he wasn’t helping matters.  “No, darling, I’m sorry.”  He looked at the bed clothes.  The last thing he wanted to do was go in and join her.  “Camille, they’re really not that bad.”  He wondered if she would believe him.

“Liar.”  He was inclined to agree with her on this one.  The whining had started again, “I can’t help it.”  He was still giggling like a schoolboy, careful not to let her hear but she hit him none the less, his shaking body a giveaway.  “Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m not laughing,” the punch turned to a slap against his skin as a reprimand.  “Darling, please come out, I’m not sure how I could explain your suffocating to the coroner.”  If she had been on the verge of moving when his last comment absolutely put a stop to that. 

“Why are you being so mean?”

“I’m not being mean!  I don’t understand why you’re making it into such a big deal?”  He had left the bed, watching the outline that was Camille’s head move in confusion, looking for him.   He lifted the sheet over her feet at the bottom of the bed then took up his position in the bed again watching her legs flail, trying to close the sheet again.  “Camille, trust me, that’s the best option for both of us right now.”  Her legs stilled, finally understanding.  In time he asked, “you ready to come out yet?”

“No.” She was sulking. 

“Ok.”

She seemed to think that there was something judgemental in his tone and became defensive again, reiterating that ‘she couldn’t help it’ for the third time.

“I know you can’t!”

“Then stop judging me.”

He was finding it difficult not to laugh at the absurdity of their situation again.  “I’m not judging you!”

“Well, stop finding it so funny.” With a supreme effort he managed to control himself.  Perhaps she finally thought that he was taking her seriously but she began to talk grumpily.  “It’s not as if you’ve never done them.”

“I know it’s not!  That’s why it’s funny!”

“It’s not funny!”

He’d had enough.  Grabbing a fistful of sheet he pulled it back, revealing a mass of unruly curls.  Putting on his most authoritative voice he said, “Camille, trust me.  Farting is always funny.” 

Her scowl remained but he could tell that her embarrassment had lessened.  “They never used to be this bad,” he heard her mutter, “stupid baby,” under her breath.    

Scooting down the bed he mimicked her foetal positioning, lying on his side, faces turned to each other. 

“It’s normal,” he reassured her.  She shook her head.  “And it _is_ funny.”  The shaking became more vigorous at this. 

“They’re so bad.” 

“Yes,” he conceded, “that was particularly potent.”

She looked dismayed, “but they’re all like that.”  She was inwardly debating whether to let him in further than was strictly necessary, but in the end she seemed to think that marriage allowed a greater degree of intimacy, for better or for worse.  She lowered her voice.  “I’ve woken myself up before.”

It was too much for him, he hid his face in the mattress and tried in vain to stop laughing.  Finally seeing the funny side she smiled at the ridiculousness of their situation allowing herself a small smile.  “Have you ever done that?”

The laughter stopped and he looked at her with sympathy, aware that admitting he hadn’t might ruin her self-confidence again.  “No.  But I’ve never been pregnant.”

“You really think they’ll get better?”

He rolled his eyes muttering, “God I hope so.”  She hit him and he launched himself at her in order to deflect the blow as easily as possible, pinning her down.  In between kissing her he took several deep breaths.  And stopped.  “Is that a new one?”  She gave him her best glare and would have hit him if Richard’s fingers hadn’t been wrapped around her wrists.  The sudden realisation that he had put his foot in it again dawned on him as he tried to make light of it, “Oh,” he said conversationally, “they…um, they linger then…”  He dissolved in to giggles again as her glare deepened before making a show of holding his breath and going back in for another kiss.  The kiss seemed to make her more amenable as her annoyed struggling gave way to complete pliancy. 

In time, she shifted under him gently and he became aware that lying flat on her back was probably causing her some discomfort.  He rolled them on to their sides, smiling fondly at her. To his surprise, Camille didn’t return the look, if anything she became despondent again.

Her voice was full of reproach as she squirmed to try and get comfortable without the aid of a pillow cushioning the bump, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” This reproof, like every other reproof she’d ever fired in his direction left him genuinely confused. 

“Like you’re indulging some smelly old great aunt by pretending that there’s nothing wrong.”  His smile grew and he made a sudden movement, rolling over to reach for something on the floor.  She lost sight of him for a few moments, becoming worried by his sudden lack of interest in her.  _Damn these hormones_ she thought.

His head reappeared, resting on the edge of the bed.  He had a clean handkerchief tied around the bottom half of his face and was looking at her with an air of complete seriousness. 

“Is this better?”   She was biting the bottom on her lip in an effort to not give him the satisfaction of seeing her amused.  He revealed his hand and another handkerchief with a flourish that took her attention away from his face for a moment.  It took a moment for her to realise what he was proposing, even without an explanation.  His eyes were shining and she realised that he was enjoying her humiliation, even if what she was feeling wasn’t humiliation anymore.  She could hear the barely contained laughter in his voice.  “I got one for you too.”  The green spotty handkerchief advance towards her, followed by her masked husband. 

She was stuck, weighed down by a bump she hadn’t quite gotten used to yet.  Deciding quickly that it was probably best to yield before she did herself a mischief, she allowed him to tie the material around her nose and mouth, securing it at the back of her head as he had done with his.

He settled back next to her.  Smug. 

“All good?”

She shrugged.  “But I might want to kiss you…” She left the sentence open ended, an invitation to other things, in the hope that he might want to take her up on them. 

An eyebrow raised, “kissing?”  He sighed.  “Well, I suppose you’re right.  We are on our honeymoon after all.”  He mulled over his answer still further, “we could just,” he gently rolled up the material uncovering her lips, leaving her nose still covered, “there.”  He leaned back to admire his handiwork.  “Better?”  

She nodded gently and reached to do the same to him, feeling him run a thumb over her lips before placing a kiss in its place when she had finished. 

It was ridiculous.  And childlike.  And fun.  Perhaps farting wasn’t so bad after all.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and I defy any of you to end a story with "perhaps farting wasn’t so bad after all."


	7. Chapter 7

He could hear groaning and heaving breathing coming from the bathroom, sending his mind as well as his feet racing. It was too soon for anything like those noises. He careered through the door only to find her perched on the edge of the loo seat in her underwear. The cistern was set in a recess and she had pushed herself up against one of the walls with her legs propped up against the opposite side. It wasn’t this position that particularly worried Richard, he’d seen her doing weirder things, it was the fact that she had a razor in her hand.

“Oh my God - what are you doing?” 

“I’m trying to do my legs!” She was on the verge of tears as she flung the razor into the sink, “but I can’t reach!” 

Relief flooded through him. And as he looked closer he could see that if he’d been less flustered he would have noticed the soap lather all over her, well actually it was all over everything. 

“Oh darling.” He knelt down next to her and took her in his arms trying to avoid getting any soap on his suit. 

“They’re so hideous.” 

“They’re not hideous.” He was caressing her hair as he spoke. “I don’t care about them, I think you’re beautiful.” 

“If you think I’m beautiful then why haven’t you touched my legs for ages?” 

“Because I love touching other parts of you at the moment.” He proved his point by caressing her stomach. “I still love your legs though.” 

“Touch them then.” He hesitated, unsure if this was a trap or not. She sensed his indecisiveness. “Go on. Touch them.” 

He realised he had a get out clause and was profoundly grateful. “Why don’t you have a bath, get this gel stuff off your legs first and then I promise I’ll spend the entire evening feeling your legs up...”

She nodded her ascent and he got up to draw the bath, filling it with her favourite oil. She slid under the water, grateful that he at least knew how to take care of her. He knelt by the side, sleeves rolled up, hand on the bump that was already protruding above the water. 

“Feeling better?” 

She nodded. “I still want to do my legs though.” 

In retaliation, he stretched down his hand and stroked the leg nearest him. “You really don’t need to.”

“So you don’t think they’re too bad?” 

“They’re not bad at all.”

She flicked water into his face. “You are such a liar. They’re horrible.” 

“I don’t mind, honestly, and if it really bothers you that much then I can do them for you. But you don’t need to do them for me. 

“I’m not doing them for you.” 

His hand stilled instantly. Don’t panic. Don’t panic, it’s probably nothing. “So who are you doing them for then?”

“I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. 

He breathed an internal sigh of relief. See, not so bad. “So?”

“So I don’t want to have hairy legs for Dr Wright”

“I’m sure Dr Wright won’t mind Camille, she’s probably seen it all before and worse.” 

“She’s a he Richard.” 

He started to panic again. “I thought your doctor was a woman, you always said you really liked her.” 

“I did, until she moved. I’ve now got Dr Wright, it’s the same guy as last time.”

“Last time?” 

“Yes, last time. I told you this.” 

He shook his head to refute her statement, not hugely surprised, there was a lot she was forgetting at the moment. “I still don’t understand why you need to do your legs, he’s not going to be touching them is he?” 

“No, of course not! But I can’t wear trousers any more so I’ll have bare legs, and if I have bare legs he’ll see them and think that I’m disgusting because I don’t shave them. I have some pride left…”

Richard thought it was highly unlikely that Dr Wright would think anything of the sort being of the gynaecological variety, and moved to disagree with her, even if he thought it was a waste of his time, given how set her mind was. “Camille, he won’t notice, I bet he won’t even look at them.”

“But you look at them.”

“Of course I do, but that’s different.” 

“How is that different?”

“Because I like looking at you”

“So you’re saying that no other man likes looking at me anymore? That I’ve turned into some sort of hideous mess since becoming pregnant?” 

“No of course I’m not saying that!” Oh dear, this had backfired spectacularly as usual.

“So why wouldn’t he look at me?” Richard could feel tears coming on again. They were the last thing he was prepared for after the day he had just had. He felt a little wounded that Camille cared enough about a stranger to ensure that her legs were smooth, but not enough for him to warrant the same treatment. 

He stroked her hair. “There is no reason he wouldn’t look at you. And if it makes you feel better I’ll do your legs for you. 

The sniffing stopped. “You will?” 

His face softened and he nodded as she smiled happily and sank lower in the water. They stayed like that for a few happy moments while he trailed back and forth across her belly and thought again about how lucky he was. His thoughts were interrupted when he realised that she was struggling to sit up. 

“How do I know you won’t cut me?” 

He fixed her with a glare. “Camille, I’ve shaved my face every day since I was 18. Given that I’m older than you, I think I am considerably more experienced with a razor.” 

“But you’ve never shaved legs...” 

He knew she had him there, not that he really thought it mattered, the principal was essentially the same. “No...but in the same way that you’ve never shaved your face, you’d probably be capable of doing it.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them. 

“So if I let you do my legs, you’ll let me do your face?” 

He was trapped. He knew he was. He wasn’t quite sure how they had got to this. He didn’t feel particularly comfortable about doing her legs, especially when it wasn’t strictly for his benefit and he certainly had no need for her to come anywhere near his face with a razor, no matter how much he trusted her. His indecision was written clear across his face as his mouth fell open in defeat.

“Please?”

He could refuse her nothing. What the hell he thought, she’ll probably have forgotten about it by the morning. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

She hadn’t forgotten about it by the morning and after his shower he was greeted by the sight of her sitting on the sink area in a pair of pants and t shirt pulled taut over her bump. The sudden arousal that he felt quickly dissipated when he saw that she was holding his razor. 

“Camille, I’m late, can we do this some other time?” 

“Oh no! You don’t get out of it that easily Richard.” She beckoned him over with a finger and held out the shaving cream to him. “Lather up then...”

With a groan, he took the pot from her and started to work it into his skin. As a precaution he felt the water in the sink in front of him where she would clean the blade. It was hot. He pulled the plug. 

She was quick to jump to the wrong conclusion. “You promised.” 

He placated her with a stubbly kiss getting some of the cream on her in the process. “I shave with cold. Hot water deadens the blade.” She looked suitably chastened but not enough to release him from his obligation as he refilled the bowl in front of her. 

“But I use hot water...” She also thought that every other man on the planet used hot water. But this was Richard. Another quirk that belonged so completely to him.

He shrugged and took a step towards her nudging her legs apart so that he was now in between them. “Make it quick. And if the baby starts kicking, you stop. I need you to be steady...” 

She nodded and smiled as she took his face in one hand and drew the blade over his skin with the other, watching to see if he winced. But he remained calm, in spite of his lack of control in this situation. He was so caught up in watching her utter look of concentration that he hadn’t realised that she had finished his cheeks until she made a signal for him to stretch his upper lip. 

He looked at himself in the mirror and ran a hand over the bare skin that she had left behind. “Not bad.” 

She shot him a look of triumphant defiance. “And I’m not even finished yet...top lip.” He did as he was told and in a few worryingly professional strokes Camille had rendered it smooth and had moved on to his chin making short work of that too. Only his neck was left. 

She held him gently as she prepared to start on the underside of his jaw and work up to his chin. His hand found her wrist before she could start. 

His voice was low. “Go with the grain.” She frowned so he moved his hand to hers to guide the blade. “Up to down.” Her next few strokes were slow and deliberate. Richard found that having so much of her attention concentrated on such a small area of his face was incredibly arousing. Even with his head tilted back to accommodate the angle of the razor he could still see the way she was biting her lip to keep her mind on the job, the alertness in her eyes and the dishevelled halo of hair that she always had when she woke up.

She had finished and was now watching him study her, reading his thoughts. She used a finger to wipe some of the shaving cream from around his mouth. “I thought you said you needed to be quick because you were late?” 

Hands on her thighs he pulled her closer to him so that her face was now inches away from his. “Oh, I think you and I both know that I can be very quick...”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had intended on writing more - but that's never going to happen so this will have to do! Sorry if you think its a little graphic - I'd like to think it was a pretty realistic description of labour...

When it came down to it, Richard realised that he was entirely unprepared for the birth of his first and only born. The books that he had read, people he had spoken to, all the information and advice he had gathered proved useless. 

His first mistake was thinking that on this day Camille cared about him in any capacity.   He was on his own.  The countless books he had read had made it clear that most men passed out during the birth not from terror or disgust but due to dehydration and lack of energy.  They were very specific in that he needed to keep his sugar levels up.  He had also taken the liberty of talking to Fidel who had confirmed that if things went on for a bit then it could be pretty boring and tiring, although he had also asked that Richard keep that piece of information to himself.  If either Juliet or Camille found out that he had actually said that then he would be in a whole world of trouble. 

Of course the books had also said that it was vital that Camille keep her energy up too. Richard had therefore taken the liberty of getting an array of snacks and sugary drinks to keep her going.  He was determined to guide her through labour safely. 

When her contractions finally started he was therefore unnerved to find himself completely unprepared and actively terrified. It hadn’t helped that he had woken in the middle of the night to find their bed empty and a weird sort of moaning noise coming at intervals from the bathroom.  Leaping out of bed in his haste to get to her he had managed to catch one of his feet in the sheets and end up sprawled on the floor.  Limping quietly in to the bathroom he was surprised to find that Camille looked relatively normal, no heavy breathing, no sweating, no writhing on the floor.  She fixed him with a stare. 

“Are you alright?” If the question was caring then the tone of her voice brooked no nonsense, Richard was still too sleepy to notice.

“My foot hurts.”

He realised instantly that this perhaps was the wrong thing to say as her eyes narrowed at him, a sure sign that he was in trouble and her nostrils flared. Just when he thought she was going to let rip at him for his insensitivity another contraction took hold.  He watched, eyes popping, as she transformed in front of him, legs widening to take the weight of her body and gripping the basin in front of her with both hands as her breathing deepened.  It ended after about a minute.  He reached out and put a comforting hand on her shoulder feeling a slight sheen on her skin that he hadn’t seen under the muted light in the bathroom.

“Are you ok?”

She snapped at him. “Don’t touch me.”

He removed his hand instantly trying not to feel too hurt by her rebuff and stood awkwardly by her side instead. He searched around for something to say to make him seem useful.

“Have your waters broken?” 

“I don’t think so.”

“Surely you know?”

She fixed him with another glare. “No, I don’t know.  Maman says that she didn’t really notice when hers broke with me and Juliet says that hers were a flood.  So I don’t know.  Apparently they’re different for everyone." 

He knew this. Of course he knew this.  He’s read entire medical papers on women’s waters breaking.  He could have kicked himself for asking her such a stupid question.  He tried to touch her again, rubbing a circle with the palm of his hand in the centre of her back.  They had tried this previously (Richard had insisted on it as part of their preparation) and she had said that it would probably be useful.  He got one half rotation around before he felt her tense under his contact and retreated another half pace behind her, unsure exactly of what he was meant to be doing and quietly cursing the fact that he had got out of bed.  It would have been so much easier if he’d stayed asleep.  He wouldn’t have this complete feeling of helplessness that was currently flowing through him.  Clearly Fidel’s initial observation about labour being long and boring was correct.  Especially if Camille wasn’t even going to let him touch her. 

It was after the fifth time of asking if she was ok or that if he could do anything that Camille decided to ban him to the other side of the bathroom door in order to get some peace, although in reality she could still hear him pacing the hall which annoyed her even more.

She had decided that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself. She was already timing her contractions and had rung the hospital.  She even got her overnight bag down from the cupboard where they had been storing it (in between contractions of course).  Her contractions were coming fast now, it was time, or at least she thought it was.  She opened the door to find that he had disappeared.  Typical.  The one time she actually wanted him hovering around her, helping her down the stairs and into the car, he was nowhere to be seen.   

She threw the bag in the general direction of the front door below and managed to manoeuvre herself into the downstairs hall using the banisters and bracing herself against the wall with her other hand. It didn’t help that she had to pause half way through for another contraction, balancing on her hands and knees with her face to the floor.  When she had at last made it and was able to draw breath she managed to call for him. 

“Richard, where the hell are you?”

“I’m coming, I’m just making my sandwiches...”

“You’re _what_?”  Given the fact that the majority of her energy was focused elsewhere the volume of her shriek was impressive.

“and _your_ food.  I’m getting your food too.”  This new revelation did nothing to placate her; food was the last thing on her mind at the moment. 

“Hurry up!” Then, “Oh God!” as another one took hold.

He sprinted around the corner, food bag in hand to find her now braced against the front door.

“Are you ok, can you walk?” She nodded and pushed back from the door which Richard now opened and ushered her through. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

The way to the hospital made Richard feel every bit as useless as his attempts to comfort her in the bathroom. To his mind he drove more carefully than he had ever done in his life, but according to Camille he either drove too slowly or too fast, or purposely drove through the potholes or swerved at the last moment to avoid them causing her unnecessary pain.  It seemed that he could do no right today.

They finally pulled up to the hospital parking in an emergency bay designed for check in. They were halfway to the door when Richard stopped. 

“Shit!”

“What is it?”

“The baby seat!”

“What about it?”

“I forgot it! I bloody forgot it!”

“Why isn’t it in the car? You put it in the car last week!”

“I know, I took it out.”

“Why did you take it out?”

“I was practising. I wanted to make sure I could put it in properly.”  He gave a little jump on the pavement resembling a toddler’s tantrum.  “Shit!  I have to go back,” he turned to Camille, “I’ll go back now, you won’t even know I’m gone.” 

Camille was grabbing hold of the collar of his jacket, annoyed, in pain and scared of being left alone. “You can’t go now, I’m having a baby.”

“Camille, it’s just contractions, we don’t even know if you’re in active labour yet...”

“Just contractions?! Richard, if you leave me now, I swear to God I won’t be at this hospital when you get back, I’ll ask them to move me somewhere where you can’t find me.

He nodded mutely, aware that leaving his wife at this stage wasn’t perhaps the best idea he’d ever had. He could only hope that she wouldn’t remember this conversation when it was all over.  

Richard was convinced that if he hadn’t been in the room that Camille wouldn’t really have noticed. Up until now she hadn’t let him touch her, she hadn’t actually let him anywhere near her and every time he asked the midwife a question she would huff and roll her eyes.  Only not in the loving way that she used to whereby she communicated how sweet and annoying he was at the same time.  Oh no.  This was done with genuine infuriation.  He’d never felt more useless. 

When they had checked in, they had at least been relieved to have been told that they would be staying, that Camille was in active labour. He had been paranoid about having to drive her all the way home again.  Although this would have solved the problem of picking up the baby seat.  They had been led into a room, Camille leaning heavily on him, the only time so far that he had been allowed to help in any capacity. 

Her contractions had continued as they had at home gaining in strength and longevity. But her waters still hadn’t broken and she was tired.  In an effort to give her more energy Richard had insisted that she at least try to eat and drink something.  She had agreed to some lucozade and got about halfway through the bottle before shooting Richard a furious yet slightly helpless look and waddling for the bathroom kicking the door partially shut behind her.  Richard had stayed rooted to the spot listening for about a second before deciding that he needed to help, even if it meant he got his head bitten off again.  He summoned what little of his courage was left and followed her through the door managing to hold her hair back for all of 3 seconds before she tried to shake him off.  A contraction followed directly, but he knew that if he left her now she would hate him even more so he held her until that too had finished. 

He stroked her hair once then reluctantly let go of her, finally happy that he had been able to cope in some small capacity although fully expecting her to launch in to a quick but no less effective tirade. Instead she looked utterly beaten. 

“Please don’t make me have anything else.”

He stroked her hair again, nodding, before trailing after her back towards the midwives, hoping against hope that the baby would come before her energy ran out completely.

It didn’t.

Early afternoon turned into early evening and still their child refused to enter the world. Camille had tried every position known to man in order to get comfortable, but so far her body had refused to entertain anything other than standing, and her feet were killing her.  She was also still making numerous trips to the bathroom, this time without Richard, but he could still hear the retching from behind the door.  It was on one such trip that he glanced at his watch realising with a jolt how late it actually was.  He managed to pull aside a midwife. 

“What happens now?” He saw her give him an obvious look that meant he just had to hold tight so followed it up with, “she’s exhausted.”

He received a more understanding look this time. “We’ll see if we can give her some pethidine to help her sleep.  She’ll have more energy when she wakes.”

“But if she’s feeling sick, isn’t that going to make her feel worse?”

“It could also make her feel better.”

“And the baby? I thought it stayed in the placenta?  Won’t it affect the baby?”

He received another look, and he knew without her having to say anything that it was pretty much their only option if Camille was going to get any sleep.

A small voice came from behind them. “When can I have it?”

He turned to see a worn out Camille on the verge of tears and went to her, wordlessly offering himself to her, the least he could do was help her take the weight off her own feet.

The midwife was more matter of fact. “Now, if you’d like it.”

“Do you think anything will happen tonight?”

The midwife shook her head. “You’re still only 3cm dilated.  Your husband’s right, you need rest. But you will have to lie down.”  Camille gave Richard a pained look.  “It will start working quickly, you won’t be in discomfort for long.”

Richard knew without looking at his wife that the word ‘discomfort’ would have annoyed her intensely. It had been hours since she had passed the discomfort stage.  But to his surprise, Camille started moving to the bed.  Clearly she was more exhausted than he had anticipated.  But she was stopped by the midwife.

“Wait a moment, I have to get it first,” and with a little smile left the room. 

Richard turned to Camille. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

She heaved her shoulders and held back a sob. “I’m so tired.”

“Ok.” He kissed her temple, more determined to be supportive.  “Ok.”

***                                                                                                                                                    

The pethidine had helped Camille sleep for 6 hours. But she had woken up alone.  Richard had been sent home, ordered to get some sleep himself, comforted by the fact that Camille would be out of it until at least 6am the next morning, and because secretly he was still angry at himself for forgetting the baby seat. 

As soon as she opened her eyes she knew something was wrong, why she had woken. Her contractions were back and were strong, breaking through the drug induced coma that the pethidine had provided her with.  She felt trapped in the sheets as she tried to make a dash for the bathroom again, desperate to sit on something other than a hard mattress, relief surging through her when she found the bowl of the loo.  She let out a cry, both in pain and gratitude pushing against the wall in front of her, before crawling back to bed, relieved that her contractions wouldn’t be close enough together to ensure another trip to the bathroom for a little while.  But she was wrong, her contractions had picked up where they had left off.  The pethidine had given her enough rest to ensure that and it wasn’t long before she was back again, roaring her heart out in the muted buzz of the bathroom, bizarrely hoping that she wasn’t waking anyone else up by being too loud. 

The contractions kept her busy for an hour before she was about to even contemplate calling a midwife for help. The midwife in turn was able to call Richard. 

He arrived wide awake and fully dressed 20 minutes later, leaving everything in his haste to be by her side again, after obviously waiting by the phone. 

He placed a hurried kiss on her forehead. “Are you ok?”  He winced a little at the new intensity with which she gripped his hand.  He was babbling a little.  “I’m sorry I left...I didn’t want to...they made me.  They said I couldn’t stay.”

She was trying to shake her head, to tell him to shut up, that she couldn’t cope with him talking at the moment. Finally he asked her a question she could give an answer to.

“Have you waters broken?”

“No...” it came out as a grimace, part of her ragged breathing as the tail end of her contractions. She expected him to counter her answer with something else but instead he was silent.  She stole a look at him and saw a worried frown.  A look he hid from her when he realised he was being watched.

“Is that ok?”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “The midwives will know what to do.”

***

And so they had waited. Camille had been subjected to proddings by almost every midwife on duty in an effort to get her body to do the job for her but to no avail.  It seemed to Richard that their child did not have its mother’s impetuous nature, although it was content to do things in its own time and to its own schedule, so certainly took after her in that respect.  He would have smiled at the irony if he hadn’t been feeling sick with worry and anticipation. 

It turned out that they didn’t have to wait long. The next time the midwife appeared she had broached the subject of breaking her waters manually, something Camille had been rather enthusiastic about.

“Camille, your contractions will get really painful...

“I can handle it.”

The midwife cut in again. “He’s right.  It will speed up your labour.  You might want to consider other forms of pain relief...” 

Richard took over “...which you didn’t want to do. Remember, we discussed this?  You said you wanted to do it as naturally as possible...”

Her patience was almost at an end as she snapped, “I don’t see you pushing a baby out Richard!”

He held up his hands, giving up already, he knew trying to persuade her when she was like this was useless, but he at least wanted to cover his back when she was feeling better.

And so her waters had been broken. It had been uncomfortable but quick, Richard manoeuvring her to her feet as soon as the process was over, her poor tired feet aching as they took her weight once more. 

She was standing by the wall when the first contraction hit her. Her knees buckled and Richard very nearly didn’t catch her in time. 

“Oh Goooooooooooddddd.” He managed to steer her towards the bed.  “I can’t sit down Richard, it’s too uncomfortable.”  Her voice was breathless and riddled with pain.

“I know, stand in front of me. I’ll hold you.”  She nodded as he sat on the bed behind her, holding her waist.  The whole process had taken 30 seconds but Camille wasn’t quite ready as the next wave of pain took over and the midwife bustled over again to monitor their baby’s heartbeat.  

“Breathe. Breathe.”  He was making long whooshing noises designed to get her to copy him.  It did nothing except annoy her.

“Stop telling me to fucking breathe!” The wall took the brunt of her anger as she roared her way through another contraction.  He hoped she wasn’t this angry with him after the baby actually arrived.  Her contraction lessened again and she was able to speak properly, if only for a moment, her voice was twisted with pain.  “God, I hate you.  It hurts so much.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”  He tried rubbing her back again, and this time was successful. 

“I need drugs.” She gave the midwife an imploring look and the contractions started again.  “I need drugs!”  The second time came out as a scream, only to be met with the calm professional manner of the midwife. 

“Camille, I’m sorry it’s too late for an epidural.”

“Please, I need them. I can’t do it.  I can’t....”

“I can give you gas.”

“Yes! Yes!” She was clawing for the mask, forcing it to her face and breathing in deeply.

“Camille, it won’t work if you gulp it, you have to time it with your...” He stopped talking at the look he was being given. 

The contractions continued, Camille’s knees buckling for every one and Richard was finding it increasingly difficult to hold on to her. He had been inadvertently shifting trying to find a grip that would relieve his failing arm muscles until he found himself standing in front of her.  Her eyes snapped open to find his green irises staring at her with concern, but her fear of an entirely different nature was beginning to assert itself as she began to panic, “what are you doing?  Not the front!  I don’t want you to see!”  His worry turned to understanding as he did as he was told, moving behind her, his tired arms taking the brunt of her weight again. 

Finally the contractions gave way to an overwhelming urge to push. Manoeuvring her so that she was kneeling facing the bed, he was finally able to look at her.  And the look she was now sporting on her face didn’t go unnoticed.

“If you need to push Camille, then go ahead and push.”

She had a pain free moment where she looked at him utterly distraught. “I don’t want to poo.” 

If they had been in any other situation he would have openly laughed. “Darling, that’s not going to happen.  I promise.”   She shot him a look that told him quite clearly that he couldn’t guarantee that, but realised that she didn’t really have any other choice as she felt the urge again. 

She was alternating between scrunching her eyes tight shut and staring at him. He tried encouraging her, “push Camille.  You have to push!” 

She grimaced and pushed, emitting a low groan. She was beginning to think that if this was all the pushing stage entailed then it was going to be better than she had hoped when a contraction took over.  In an effort to shift the pain and rid herself of the pressing feeling she now had deep within her, she dropped her voice by at least an octave and dug in.  Richard could only watch wide eyed with panic as his wife started emitting some sort of farm animal noise that sounded distinctly like a cow in abject agony. 

“Nnnnnnnnnnnnnmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppphhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

The midwife seemed to think that she was doing the right thing.

“That’s good. That’s really good honey.  When you feel another one you should try it again...”

“Nnnnnnnnnnnnnmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppphhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

“That’s the head. Stop pushing.”  Camille looked at Richard, utterly worn out, unsure how much more she could take.  He squeezed her hand to let her know that it was nearly over and started breathing out loudly again, setting a rhythm for her to follow, urging her to copy him with her eyes. 

The midwife cut in again. “Ok, we’re ready, one more push!”

She closed her eyes and felt the urge to push one more time. And their daughter finally made her appearance. 

***

Camille remembered their daughter’s first moments in patches. She remembered being helped to the bed and she remembered a small bloody bundle being placed on top of her.  If she had thought about it, she would have remembered Richard’s arms around them both, his ridiculous smile, his kisses, his tears, his pride.  But she floated in and out of sleep, secure in the knowledge that their child was safe.  


End file.
